Yuletide Yearning
by Goggle Girl
Summary: He always misses them most at Christmas...


_Author's Notes: Behold! I'm NOT dead! coughs Anyway, I know it's been ages since I wrote and posted anything here... especially in the Harry Potter section. I probably should be reading over my Group 4 lab... or Extended Essay... or something else, but I need a break. I really seriously need a break. And so I have a short one-shot piece of writing I wrote last month during long and boring war poetry commentaries in English class. I'm actually kind of surprised by it... especially the fact that it isn't exactly a happy piece of writing. Oh well, whatever comes out comes out I guess. I can't really think of much else to say here... um... Happy Holidays? I hope it's a lot cheerier than Remus' here._

**Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in this story are not mine... they're copyright of JK Rowling.**

_**Yuletide Yearning**_

He always misses them most at Christmas. It's when he feels the most alone. It's when the simple planked walls of his small little house seem to close in and trap him. It's unwelcome solitude; he doesn't want to feel alone.

He used to still get a tree for the few years after they were gone. He would try to decorate it as best he could but it never looked quite right. No amount of tinsel or small twinkling lights could improve it. The tree always looked sad and unloved, not like the large emerald green tree his mother always had. She knew how to place the tinsel just so and where each individual light could sit so that its light reflected off the glass ornaments and warmed the room.

Christmas used to always smell nice then when he was little. His mother would always be baking cookies and he would always help decorate them. On Christmas Eve he would curl up in his father's lap and have him read. The warmth and love would always lull him off to sleep, only to awaken to brightly coloured packages and ribbons beneath the tree. After his accident it all changed. His mother would not let him help decorate the tree; he was not allowed to touch the silver tinsel. His father did not read to him or let him sit in his lap. He no longer received loving gifts wrapped carefully in brightly coloured paper.

There had not been any bright packages beneath his tree in years and soon he no longer could afford the emotional and financial anguish of a tree. So he looked for something else. Mistletoe didn't work; he had no one to meet beneath it. Tinsel was not allowed; the silvery strands burned into his hands and left them red and swollen for days. Finally, sleigh bells were settled for, hanging them on his front door in the hopes that perhaps by some sort of magic that particular Christmas would be less lonely.

But the bells only brought back memories of Christmases spent with his friends. He would usually spend the holiday with the Potters; it was they who had the nicest house. He remembered the smells of the kitchen and the annual tradition of Lily beating Sirius away from the cookies with a rolling pin. He remembered the laughter, alcohol, and all around good cheer. He remembered sleeping on the floor which was always surprisingly soft and after miraculously falling asleep despite Peter's snores he would wake up to the smell of bacon and Sirius' cologne. It was comforting and gave him a sense of home, something he rarely felt.

Then Harry came. He knew the lad for only a year but it was a year he fondly remembered. Harry loved the sleigh bells and their melodious jingle. But he also liked to hide in the basement pantries and was usually lost for some time. So he was given a couple sleigh bells, one tied to each ankle. He jingled everywhere he went, making his own small holiday music.

All this only made him remember the accident and how we would never again see any of them. So the very next day the bells went in the rubbish bin.

Now his house is barren as always: no tree, no tinsel, no gifts, no bells. The signs of Christmas no longer come; even the snow is scarce. Silence is his only companion, his holiday dinner a sandwich and some tea. Sighing, he stares into his chipped cup and tries to find some comfort, some happy thought to make him feel less alone. But all that comes are memories to remind him that he will never be surrounded by loved ones again.

He always misses them most at Christmas.


End file.
